


Hurts So Good

by The_Girl_Almighty, wickedarcher_08



Series: Ta'ooed On My Heart [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom!Harry, Breathplay, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Comeplay, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, DomCom, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, M/M, Mirror Sex, Nipple Play, Pain Kink, Rimming, Sarcasm, Smut, Tattoos, Undernegotiated Kink, daddy!louis, dom!Louis, sub!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 15:31:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16121435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Girl_Almighty/pseuds/The_Girl_Almighty, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedarcher_08/pseuds/wickedarcher_08
Summary: Louis is principal tattoo artist and owner of Evil From The Needle tattoo shop who has a crush on the curly haired, green eyed boy who works at his favourite tea shop.  Harry books an appointment with him to tattoo a moth-er-fly on his rib cage, but excellent craftsmanship and professionalism isn’t all Harry is going to get when their paths finally cross. Will this sarcastic bad boy be able to survive four hours in a confined space with his curly haired crush? Or will they crash and burn like a moth to a flame?___________Hurt so goodCome on baby make it hurt so goodSometimes love don't feel like it shouldYou make it, hurt so good





	1. Moth-er-flies and Persistant Hard Ons

**Author's Note:**

> This is our first collab. We wanted to write a story with a sarcastic as fuck Louis, so this is what we came up with based on the newest pictures/video of Louis giving Rob a tattoo. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> If you like this story or you like our humor, please check out our other stories:  
> WickedArcher_08: Cool for the Summer and Baby One More Time  
> The_Girl_Almighty: Illusions

This day has already gotten off to a shitty start. It is raining outside, of-fucking-course. Louis went for his morning tea, like always, and his favourite person to observe wasn’t even there. The curly haired hippie was nowhere to be seen, which is strange for a Tuesday morning. He is normally milling about, cleaning tables or putting ridiculous flowers in his hair. He really is ridiculous, but Louis has a bit of a crush. He doesn’t even know his name or what his voice sounds like.

Louis walks up to his shop, looking at the brightly colored sign hung beside the door proudly displaying ‘Evil from the Needle’. He is quite proud of owning his own business with his best friend at the age of 26. He twists the handle, finding it unlocked. Liam must already be there. Of course, he is. He probably woke up at some stupid hour for a morning jog in the rain, because it is ‘refreshing’. Louis would label it more like ‘insanity’, but Liam doesn't listen to him. He shakes out his short brown hair, trying to rid it of the droplets that have gathered there.

“It’s already been a shitty morning,” Louis greets walking towards the counter where Liam is standing.  

“Really? It was a great morning for me. Went on a jog in the rain, came home and had some breakfast with my protein shake, then I came here,” Liam responds.

“Well then, then you’re winning already,” Louis quips wanting to barf at the mere mention of running for fun. Unless it is after a football or away from Zombies, running isn’t for him. No thank you. Pass. “Who do we have on the book today, Li?” Tuesday’s were usually pretty slow for them, so Louis wasn’t expecting any more than two clients each, and that was pushing it.

“First up for you is a guy named Harry Styles,” Liam says looking down at their paper calendar. They really needed to upgrade to a tablet, but they haven't been able to afford it.

“What kind of name is that? That has to be a fake name. Nobody would name their child, Harry Styles, and expect them to be normal,” Louis scoffs.

“That’s what it says,” Liam replies with a bored tone, far too used to Louis’ sarcasm.

“Probably getting something cliche, like a Chinese symbol. Thinks it says something like ‘breathe’ or ‘trust’ when in reality it says ‘orange chicken number five’.” Louis hates giving cliche tattoos. Of all of the tattoos he could possibly give someone, butterflies are most definitely his least favourite. His most hated if he’s being honest. If he has to ink a fucking butterfly into one more person’s skin, he may actually scream.

“Well it’s a four hour session, so that would be a big ass symbol,” Liam responds, looking down at the book once more.

“Fucking great. Probably gonna be something equally as cliche but big, like a fucking light house or a gigantic dreamcatcher.” Louis rolls his eyes, sipping on his hot tea. If nothing else goes right today at least he’s had a decent cup of tea first.

“Well get ready, because he should be here any minute,” Liam tells him, walking out from behind the counter and into the back of the shop. Louis takes his place behind the counter, because even though his mood is foul, it’s a four hour tattoo, which means money. If some hipster teen is willing to pay him $150 an hour to tattoo a dreamcatcher, then he’s tattooing a dreamcatcher whether he wants to or not.

Not even five minutes later, the bell above the door rings, singling someone has come in. Louis looks up from his Twitter app to see who the person is. All he can see at first are legs. Incredibly long legs wrapped in skin tight black jeans. The person is attempting to close an umbrella while it is still outside the door. Why anyone would want to do that is beyond Louis. He has never been superstitious or believed in bad luck. Once the umbrella is finally closed, the person turns around and oh fuck. It’s Curly. From the tea shop. Of-fucking-course it is. His green eyes lock with Louis, and Louis thinks he may not be breathing.

“Hi-- um-- I have an appointment. I believe it’s with you, actually,” the boy says, smiling and walking closer to him. Louis has to remind himself to actually shut his mouth, because it’s gaping open. His voice. Fuck his voice, is so deep Louis could probably drown if he didn’t at least try to swim to the surface. He doesn't know if he will though. Right, so he now knows his name, and off course the hippie guy with dark curly hair and eyes he could get lost in has a name like Harry Styles. He couldn’t have a normal bloke’s name like John Smith.

“Are you Harry?” Louis asks although he already knows the answer. He likes the way it sounds rolling off his tongue, but he think he would like the way Harry taste on his tongue a bit more. Louis shakes his head to get those thoughts away, not wanting to make this awkward.

“Yup. That’s me. Louis, right?” Harry stretches one large, ringed hand towards him, waiting for Louis to take it. Louis looks at it for a second, swallows dryly and takes it in his own. Harry’s hand is warm and his skin is pale. Louis can see a few smaller tattoos on his forearms and hand, but nothing that would suggest he was in the business of getting tattoos that requires a four hour appointment.

“Nice to meet you. So what are you getting today?” Louis asks realising he had been holding Harry’s hand a little to long to be socially acceptable. He pulls it away and places it to his side, realising that probably looks awkward then moves it to the counter in front of him. He can feel the blush rising in his cheeks, and he hates that. He is far too old to be bumbling like a school boy in front of a man. Or boy. He isn’t sure of Harry’s age, so to make himself feel slightly better about the situation, he decides on man. Sure the man is ridiculously handsome with full red lips, long legs, and green eyes. But he is a professional. Now is neither the time or the place to be drooling over pretty eyes and legs that go on for days.

“Um-- I’d like this, on my stomach. Like right below my rib cage.” Harry uses those same large hands indicated the desired location. Louis nods along then looks down at the sketch Harry has laid out on the table. A fucking butterfly. Of course. Goddamnit.

“So you want a butterfly on your stomach?” Louis asks, not being able to keep the sarcasm from his tone. He was, however, able to suppress an eyeroll, so he gives himself a mental pat on the back for a job well done.

“It’s a moth!” Harry exclaims, looking offended. Louis has to laugh because the pout on his lips is so fucking adorable. Louis just wants to kiss it off.  “A Black Witch Moth to be exact,” Harry continues, his pout only worsening. And Louis finds himself smiling.

“I see,” Louis says smiling at him. Harry returns his smile, and fuck, it is just as devastating at the rest of him. The dimples on both sides of his cheeks popped with it, revealing straight white teeth, the front two just a tiny bit larger than the rest. Louis is fucked.

“Yup,” Harry replies popping the ‘p’. His feet are turned inward, like he is nervous. Louis decides to take pity on him, because he is a stand up guy, after all. It’s not good for business to openly tease the gorgeous, pouting clients. Even if they are extremely beautiful. It’s unfair how beautiful he is, really.

“How big do you want it to be?” Louis asks, then watches in amusement as Harry tries to show him with a hand gesture over his stomach. He changes the size at least three times. “Okay, fair enough. I’ll print it up in a few different sizes before I do the stencil, and we can see which one fits best. I need to see your ID though, before we can begin.” It’s standard procedure, really. They need to make sure they aren’t tattooing a minor without their guardian present.

“Sure thing,” Harry responds, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a wallet from his obscenely tight jeans. Seriously, how did he fit anything in those. It is the mystery of the century. He hands Louis his ID, their fingers brushing accidentally with the exchange. It was an accident, Louis swears. “Alright, I am going to go back and do a few sketches and print off the paperwork.” Louis glances down at his ID, noting that Harry is 19. Great, Louis hasn’t been creepy and checking out a minor this whole time. Small favours and all of that. “Feel free to take a seat in the waiting area over there, or you can come back in about twenty minutes or so if you would prefer.” Louis gestures to a selection of comfortable chairs to his right as he speaks.

“I’ll just wait, if that’s ok,” Harry replies shyly.

“Suit yourself, I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

Louis leaves Harry, as much as this fact displeases him, to go into the back room finding Liam. “Li, it’s the guy from the tea shop,” he whispers furiously, beginning to make a copy of Harry’s ID for their records.

Liam glances up, a hint of amusement in his brown eyes, then he looks down at the sketch Harry brought in. “He’s getting a butterfly?” Liam asks, lips quirked up on the side.

“It’s a Black Witch Moth, actually,” Louis defends, looking down at the butterfly sketch.

“I see,” Liam says, looking from it to Louis then back. He smiles, and Louis wants to murder him. He should have never told Liam about his fascination with the tea shop guy. They had been referring to him as Curly since the time Louis’ crush had began. Liam tried to get Louis to ask him out or at least give him his number, but Louis wasn’t sure if the guy was into blokes, so he always refused, preferring to admire from afar. Louis decides that ignoring the look Liam is giving him is best, as he makes a few different sized sketches for Harry to choose from. The stencil will be easy.

 

______________

 

As promised, twenty minutes later Louis emerges from the back room, sketches in hand to find Harry reading a magazine entitled ‘Novice Flower Arranging’. Of course that’s what he’d choose to read. But more importantly, why did Louis have a magazine about novice flower arranging in his shop. He quickly shakes the thought from his head and walks over to the counter.

“Okay. I have a few sizes for you to choose from,” Louis says. He stumbles in his step because he almost forgot who was out there for this appointment. Harry’s long legs are stretched out in front of him while he sits on one of the comfy sofas, quickly dropping the magazine when he hears Louis speak. Louis has to remind himself to breathe, again. Jesus tits, he has been doing it since he was fucking born, why was the act seemingly impossible around Harry Styles?

“Awesome,” Harry says standing up and stretching, showing a piece of pale white skin just above the waistline of his jeans, a tiny love handle peeking out. Louis wants to bite it, or lick it, or come on it, or maybe all three, he hasn’t actually decided. Louis shakes his head, because, right focus. He needs to be professional. He is a professional afterall. Surely he can get through a four hour session without sucking love bites into his client’s skin, then kissing the bruise. He can do that. Surely.

“Um-- here they are,” he responds, snapping his gaze away. Harry smirks, like he knows what Louis is thinking. Surely he can’t know. Right? That isn’t a secret power that only healthy, organic, non-fat foods can give you. Louis wouldn’t know. He has never gone out of his way to eat anything of that sort. He prefers his food to have actual flavour, after all.

Harry looks at the sketches laid across the desk, his green eyes slanting as he studies them. He picks up the larger one and holds it just below his rib cage, looking down at it. “There is a mirror over here, if you want to see it, it will be easier to tell if you like it that size.” Louis points at the mirror opposite Harry and he wanders towards it. It doesn’t take him long to get there, his impossibly long legs carrying him there in three easy strides, and he looks at himself, sketch held up to the desired spot. He tilts his head from side to side, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips as he adjusts the sketch. He sighs after three attempts and turns to face Louis.

“Would you mind holding this for a minute?” Harry says, holding the sketch out towards Louis.

“Um-- sure.” Louis is confused now, but he does as he is asked. Anything to make his customers happy. Louis wasn't sure what he was expecting Harry to do next, but this wasn’t it. As Louis was contemplating the reason Harry had asked him to hold the sketch he’d missed Harry beginning to remove his shirt. He looked up just in time to catch the ripple of his back and shoulder muscles and the way his toned, pale skin stretched over his ribs as Harry pulled the shirt over his head. And Louis is staring. He knows he is, but he doesn’t fucking care. He wants to mark that delicate skin more than he wants to breath right now, and he’s not the least bit sorry.

“Thanks,” Harry responds, taking the sketch from Louis, but Louis is still staring at the expanse of pale skin right in front his face. He could literally reach out and touch it. He wonders if the skin would be soft under his finger tips. He has the strangest uge to tattoo it, mark it forever. It seems though, he is going to get his wish very soon. Louis blinks a few times, trying to focus on Harry who is now holding the sketch in front of him, cocking his head from one side to the other. “What do you think?”

“What? Um…” Louis wasn’t really paying attention to the placement of the sketch, instead focusing on not touching. He can’t touch, yet, and even then he will have the rubber from the gloves separating his fingertips from Harry’s skin. He would rather have a different type of rubber separating them, but that is neither here nor there. “I think it looks great personally, good size, good placement but it’s not my tattoo. Not my body.” He wishes it was his though. Louis would be dreaming of his body for days.

“Are you sure it isn’t too big? I know it’s my body and choice, but you’re the professional” Harry asks again, all of his attention on Louis, as if whatever Louis is about to say will be the most important and interesting thing he has ever heard. Louis very much doubts that, but it is intimidating in a way.

“Like I said, I think it is a good size, but in the end it is entirely up to you, love,” Louis says, biting his lip at the pet name. Fuck. His stupid donny roots are showing. Louis hopes Harry chalks it up to his accent and not what it actually was. A slip up.

“Okay. Thank you, Louis. I really value your opinion as an artist,” Harry says, blushing and looking down at his feet for a minute. The blush on his cheeks matches the red of his lips. Louis is somewhere between entirely too endeared and completely fucking turned on. How can someone go from utterly adorable to hot as fuck in the span of time it takes for light to travel to the Earth from the sun?

“So, this the size you want?” Louis asks, clearing his throat to break some of the tension that has built in the room.

“I think so.” Harry hands the paper back to Louis, smiling again. Fuck. How is he going to get through the next four hours? Here he thought this was going to be a bad day. Turns out, fate and Mr. Harry Styles had other plans for Louis.

“Alright. Wait here another 5 minutes. I just need to put this on a stencil, then we can get started.” Louis takes the proffered papers, and makes his way into the back room, ignoring Liam’s knowing smile as he does so. He hums as he goes about transferring the sketch to a stencil, smiling when he is finished and happy with the result.

“Alright, Curly-- I mean-- um-- Harry, you can come on back,” Louis stammers out, mentally kicking himself when another fucking pet name is released from his traitorous lips. He has never been very good at holding his tongue, and it seems around Harry he is even worse. He would like to do many other things to Harry with his tongue, if he is honest.

“I don’t mind the nickname,” Harry says, smiling and standing up from the sofa once more. He put his shirt back on. A shame really, Louis was very much enjoying the view. Normally the view from the shop is shitty. Just more shops across the street, but today, today, the view could have been art. Probably is art, Louis should know, he’s a tattoo artist. Harry is so fucking beautiful he could be in some gallary or even tattooed on someone’s body. Louis would totally do that tattoo if someone asked him to.

“Alright. Come on back,” Louis says gesturing with his hand then leading Harry into his room. It is small, almost intimate, but private. It is just big enough for all the equipment Louis needs, plus himself and his client and that's the way Louis likes it.  The walls are painted a dark blue that seem to reflect the light and covering one wall are all of his favourite sketches, framed awards, health and hygiene certificates and family photos. Against the opposite wall is a black table he uses for clients who need to lie down or have their bodies at odd angles for their chosen tattoo, along with his adjustable armrest and two saddle stools. He could have fun with Harry on those saddle stools. A lot of fun.

“Where do you want me?” He hears Harry say then and it takes everything in him to suppress a groan. This curly haired Adonis will be the death of him because he wants him in every way possible in every position imaginable.

“Um-- just um-- standing, till I put the stencil on. Please.” Louis is stammering again. What the bloody hell is all that about? He hasn’t even touched Harry, yet and he’s already falling over his words. He’s fucked. Well and truly. He slowly walks over to Harry, trying to still the shaking of his hands, reluctantly donning a pair of black gloves as he does so. It probably looks bad if your tattoo artist’s hands to look as if they are going through some kind of withdrawal. He supposes he is though. He needs something. He needs to touch Harry’s alabaster skin in the worst possible way. His fingers almost itch with his need. “Could you um-- please take your um-- shirt off?” Why is this so fucking hard? Get it together, Tomlinson.

“Yeah. Thought you’d never ask,” Harry says with a smirk, and fuck, it’s devastating. Louis has to do everything in his power to focus as he reaches for his pump soap and a razor. He gently squirts some of the soap solution onto his right hand and takes a deep breath before he rubs it into Harry’s skin. Harry flinches slightly at his touch and his hand stills.

“You okay? You sure you want to go ahead with this?” Louis asks, looking up at Harry.

“Yeah. ‘M fine. It’s not the anticipation of pain or anything,” Harry responds a pink tongue coming out to lick his lips and what the fuck was that? “The soap is just cold is all.” Louis shrugs and carefully begins to shave the area of skin where the stencil will be. Harry’s skin is already smooth, so it is really just a reason to touch him, but Harry doesn't seem to complain squirming a bit because it tickles. When he is finished he wipes the area down carefully, pulling a saddle stool over and sit down in front of Harry. His face his now almost level with Harry’s dick and it does things to him he’d rather not admit. Using a men’s deodorant stick as adhesive for the stencil, he places the stencil onto Harry’s torso just so, smoothing it down firmly, the heat from Harry’s skin seeping into his hands through his gloves. Louis steps back to make sure it is straight and waits for Harry’s approval. After Harry is happy with the final placement Louis slowly peels the stencil away revealing an inked blue version of the moth.

“How’s that? You want it all black? Right?” Louis asks sliding the stool back from Harry, which felt almost physically impossible. He clears his throat because his voice sounds strained, much like his trousers. He takes a moment to look at Harry’s other tattoos. All of them are very small, simple, and black in random places all over his arms. He watches as Harry looks in the mirror, turning from side to side to make sure he liked it from all angles.

“Perfect and yes, all black please.” Harry smiles, again, and Louis kind of wants to faint. He has no idea why this man has this kind of effect on him, but he does. Louis would happily spend the rest of his life looking at that smile. He wants it tattooed on the back of his eyelids, so he can see it even when he closes his eyes. He knows that is a bit extreme, having only really met him an hour ago, but as the script inked into his collar bones says ‘it is what it is’.

“Alright. Lay down on your back, get comfortable,” Louis instructs trying to push himself into professional mode.

“Jeez at least take me to dinner first,” Harry jokes, smiling. Louis thinks it’s a joke, but he isn’t exactly sure. As Harry lays down on his back, stretching his long limbs onto the table, Louis has to discreetly adjust himself in his trousers because, fuck, this table has never had someone so breathtaking laying on it before. Harry looks at him expectantly, just waiting for Louis’ touch. Louis briefly wonders if that is what he would look like waiting for Louis to fuck him. Harry even bites his lip, and Louis can’t fucking concentrate. Is Harry doing this on purpose? Does he want to fuck up his own tattoo? Because that is the direction this appointment is headed in.

Louis chooses to ignore Harry’s last comment, instead going with, “You comfortable?”

“Very,” Harry says, smiling and nodding his head, dark curls bouncing on the leather of the table. Holy shit. Louis isn’t going to make it. He just isn’t. Maybe he should go get Liam and ask him to do Harry’s tattoo. Probably safer. They wouldn’t get a sexual harassment lawsuit. How the fuck is he going to do this? From his current position, he will have to lean his entire body on Harry’s to tattoo him, his face being far too close to Harry’s crotch. Maybe not close enough, Louis can’t really decide right now. He takes a deep breath, stilling himself because he can do this. He can. He thinks.

“Alright,” Louis responds, drinking Harry’s body in one last time before he goes to the small sink, washing his hands and puts on a fresh set of black gloves. He quickly covers his portable supplies table in cling film before getting out petroleum jelly, a few small ink containers, black ink and his machine. He busies himself setting it all up, making sure he has all the supplies he needs before beginning and adjusts his machine to the correct settings and picking the correct needle size for the outline. When he is ready he looks at Harry, he’s staring at him with a curious expression on his face that Louis can't quite place. Fuck is it a turn on. Honestly, Louis doesn't think there is anything that this man does that isn't a turn on at this point. Even the way Harry blinks is making Louis painfully hard.

“I need to put some paper towel under you, before we get this show on the road. Is that ok?” Louis has never asked permission to put paper fucking towels down in all the years he’s been tattooing. Not once. It’s paper towel for god’s sake. Yet here his is. Asking Harry if it’s ok. He’s never had to sit through a four hour long tattoo with a raging hard on either, so he supposes there’s a first time for everything.

“‘Course. Whatever you need to do is fine,” Harry responds casually. How is he so calm? He’s about to get one of the most sensitive spots on his body tattooed, and he isn’t so much as blinking. Louis idly wonders what it would be like to mark Harry in other sensitive spots, but he quickly pushes the thought from his mind, regretting it as soon as it had entered his mind when his cock twitched painfully at the idea.  Thank the gods he decided to wear tracksuit bottoms today and not the skinny jeans he was going too wear.

He quickly places the paper towels in the desired locations, careful to avoid Harry’s skin because even with the gloves he is sure there will be a spark of electricity that will go straight to his already hard dick. It is going to be a long four hours. “Alright. I am going to start with the outline,” Louis tells him, straightening his back. Harry just nods, blinking at him. His pupils are dilated, so he is probably really nervous about this, but nothing else about his body language would suggest nerves. Louis looks at Harry’s body again, trying to decide the best way to do this. He has tattooed many random body parts, including breast, ass cheeks, and even the occasional groin area, but he has never in his life felt this unsure about how to position himself. He is going to have to almost lay on Harry, and fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He really should have gotten Liam. Oh well, too late now. At least Harry wouldn’t be laying on _him,_ much to his cock’s displeasure.

“Sorry-- erm-- this is going to be a bit awkward,” Louis stammers, feeling a blush raise in his cheeks, and seriously, he doesn't know how his body has blood to spare since all of it currently seems to have a one-way ticket to Cockingham. His body, however, finds a way because he is definitely blushing, and his dick is definitely still hard. He has never apologized for positioning. It happens when you’re a tattoo artist, but here he is, apologizing to Harry, again.

“It’s fine. Do whatever you have to do.” Whatever he has to do? What he really _has_ to do is to find somewhere to masturbate to the erotic image in front of him. Harry is still calm, his breaths rising and falling slowly. He looks almost relaxed, which is a bit odd given the situation. Louis watches for a few moments, mesmerized by the rise and fall of Harry’s chest. He shakes his head, bringing him back into the present. Right. He is supposed to start tattooing Harry. He is not supposed to be licking his dimple or sucking on his long fingers. Nope. He is supposed to be just tattooing.

“Okay,” Louis says tentatively, then positions one forearm on Harry’s stomach, one on his chest, his own chest pressed against Harry’s hip to get a steady base, and holy fucking shitballs. Harry is so fucking warm, he could fall asleep especially with the gentle rise and fall of his chest, lifting Louis’ body up as well. And what is that touching his left elbow? Louis isn't sure he wants to know so he tries to ignore the odd sensation. He tightens his grip on the machine, releasing it a few times, trying to keep his own breathing steady. At least his hand isn’t shaking now that he is holding the instrument. Maybe his body doesn’t hate him after all, but then his cock twitches again, reminding him that his body does, in fact, despise him. Stupid body betraying him.

“I’m going to start with the outline,” Louis warns, rubbing a small amount of petroleum jelly into Harry's skin over the stencil, pressing gently down on the pedal. He decided to start with the fleshy part, closer to his stomach, figuring it would hurt less than when he made his way to his ribs. Even with clients who have been tattooed before, he alway warns them and starts with a small line getting them used to the sensation. When he presses the needle into Harry’s skin creating a line, Harry does something he has never, in all of his years of tattooing, witnessed. Harry releases a small deep moan, the sound traveling straight to his cock, making him rock hard in seconds. So much for the semi-boner he had before, now it is full blown and _aching_.

Louis freezes, questioning if he actually heard it, or if his muddled horny brain is just playing tricks on him. He decides to pretend it didn’t happen. Yeah. That will work. Pretend. Because it didn’t happen, he has no proof. His brain could have completely fabricated it because he desperately wants to make Harry moan. That has to be it. A figment of his overactive imagination. This _pretending_ still doesn't make his hardon go away or tamper down his lust.

He continues, this time Harry’s doesn’t moan, but the skin twitches about beneath his fingertips. He glances up at Harry, who had is eyes closed, head tilted towards the ceiling. His strong jawline on display, exposing the long column of his neck. Louis briefly wonders how many days it would take for him to lick from Harry’s collar bone to his jawline and how badly it will hurt when that jawline cuts Louis tongue like glass. He could deal with the pain if it meant tasting Harry’s skin. Fuck he needs to distract himself or this is going to get real bad, real quick.

“So, you’re a Uni student?” Louis asks, using his other hand to wipe away the excess ink, admiring his work so far.

“Yeah. I’m studying philosophy,” Harry responds, and Louis can _feel_ the words as his chest rumbles with them. Louis barely suppresses a shiver, but tries to concentrate on the conversation. He never really was much for school, always fucking off instead of actually trying to learn. He was always the loud flamboyant one, who tried to make everyone laugh. He had gotten his first tattoo, against is mother’s wishes, before he even turned 16. By the time he was 18, he had most of his sleeve done and was addicted. He got an apprenticeship at at tattoo shop where he met Liam and the rest is history.

“Oh that sounds interesting,” Louis lies. It doesn’t, and he normally wouldn’t lie about that sort of thing. In fact, he normally would tease whoever it is, but he, for some unfathomable reason, didn’t want to tease Harry. Well at least not in this type of way. Teasing him in other ways though, now that’s a thought. “Do you live nearby?”

“Yeah. A few blocks away actually. I like it because it is near Uni, and I can also walk to work,” he responds. Louis is quiet for a few moments, concentrating on the corner of the bottom left hand wing when it happens again. A low moan coming from deep within Harry’s chest. Louis can feel it and hear it this time. His heart skips a beat at the sound, his cock fattening up once again. Shit, and project distract-my-hardon-from-the-cute-boy was going so fucking well.

“Alright?” Louis asks, glancing up at Harry, and mistakes were made. Harry’s pupils are blown, his lips are bitten red with matching cheeks. Louis almost groans at the sight. He looks fucked out and they aren’t even halfway done with the outline. Shit. Does Harry have a pain kink? This appointment may be the actual death of Louis, but what a fucking way to go.

“Yeah. Great,” Harry answers, voice a bit wobbly, but otherwise mostly coherent. Louis looks at him for another few seconds, locking gazes before it becomes too intense so he has to look away. Okay. Back to the distraction plan. That was working, kind of. He wants desperately to adjust his hard cock in his joggers, but he can’t because there is ink all over his glove and it would be completely unhygienic. Fucking a client on his tattoo table would also be unhygienic, but that doesn’t seem to stop Louis from imagining that very same scenario. He looks down, noticing something he hadn’t before.

“You’ve got four nipples,” he blurts out, before he even knows what he is saying. Wrong. Wrong thing to say. That isn’t a fucking distraction, that is just adding a log to the fire. Fuck. Stupid Louis and his stupid brain for not having a stupid fucking filter. And then it hits him. A nipple. Thats what was brushing against his elbow. Sweet baby Jesus, he can’t do this. How in the hell is he supposed to focus now with the knowledge that not only does Harry have _four_ nipples, he’s also been inadvertently rubbing against one for the last fifteen minutes? Fuck.

He closes his eyes for a second, breathing in through his nose, wishing to the gods he doesn't believe in that he could turn back time and not have said those words. Not have noticed the other offending body parts. Where is Hermione fucking Granger and her time thingy when you need her. They had one of those in Harry Potter right? He isn’t sure; he just watched the movies with his little sister because reading sounds boring as fuck. He never has time for that shit.

“Oh-- um-- yeah. I hope they aren't freaking you out. A lot of people think they're weird.” The blush on Harry's cheeks only deepens with his words, and Louis could kick himself for making Harry feel embarrassed. He has a beautiful body and should never feel ashamed of it. Although the thought of anyone else seeing Harry like this makes Louis’ blood boil, and what the fuck?

“No. No. You're fine,” Louis rushes to say. “Um-- I mean-- they're fine. Ignore my big mouth.” It's Louis’ turn to blush now, and what? Since when does he fucking blush and stammer like a giddy loved up school girl? In that moment, he’s glad Liam can't see him because he'd never hear the end of it. Ever. He's even sure Liam would have it engraved on his head stone. Louis can picture it now. _Here lies Louis Tomlinson. Beloved son, brother and friend who was reduced to a blushing mess by a hipster flower child with pretty eyes, bouncy curls and legs he wanted to be wrapped around his face._ Fuck. And his hard on is back with a vengeance. Louis had been so busy imagining his head between Harry's thighs, that when Harry spoke he almost choked.

“But you have such a pretty mouth, it would be a shame to ignore it.” Louis’ head snaps up, only to find Harry’s gaze boring into him, branding him almost, his plump bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Louis can't breathe. What even is breathing? At this point Louis isn’t sure he knows what that basic human function is anymore. He knows he is gaping at Harry, his mouth hanging wide open, staring at him, and is Harry fucking smirking at him? Fuck. This can't be real. This has to be some sick twisted dream his brain has conjured up, surely.

Just then a sound like tiny bells or a bird song or some other equally vomit worthy thing hits Louis like a freight train. It engulfs his senses like a Tsunami, and he feels as though he can't escape it. But he doesn't want to. He never wants the sound to end. He tries to focus, his mind still filled with thoughts of Harry’s thighs, and how badly he wishes it was him biting on Harry's lip. Harry’s face swims into focus, and it's then he realises that the sound is coming from Harry. He's giggling. _Giggling._ Holy shit. Louis has to get back to what he's supposed to be doing. Tattooing. Yes. He has to go back to tattooing because if Harry giggles, smirks or bites his lip once more, Louis is going to come. Hard. Untouched.

“You better stay still, I don’t wanna fuck this up,” Louis says with a smile, trying to make it sound playful and possibly, or totally, ignore Harry’s comment about his mouth. Ignoring it is seriously the only thing keeping him alive right now. The only thing keeping him breathing.

“Sorry, I’ll try,” Harry says biting his lip to hold in his smile and laying his head back again, jaw pointed at the ceiling. Louis wants to suck a bruise into the spot where his jaw meets his ear. Louis and Harry fall into an easy conversation about a little bit of everything. Louis finds they have a lot in common, other than the fact Louis may or may not be imagining Harry hoping on his dick like a pogo stick every time he so much as glances up. The conversation also distracts harry from moaning, although he still looks fucked out when Louis looks at him. Louis tries to keep those looks few and far between, or else he will pass out from lack of blood flow to his brain.

When Harry starts squirming, Louis glances at the clock. Fuck. He didn’t realise they had been at this for almost two hours. He looks down at the butterfly, moth, whatever, tattoo and notes that it is coming along nicely. The outline is now finished and a good section of the shading, so maybe this would be a good breaking point.

“How about we take a break? We are about halfway through, so I think this could be a good stopping point?” Louis asks, laying his machine down on the small metal table.

“Are you sure?” Harry asks, looking up. He looks a bit shaky, so Louis definitely thinks they need to take a break to maybe get some calories into Harry.

“Yeah. My back is getting sore from being hunched over,” Louis replies, standing up and stretching his back. He blushes when he realises his shirt has ridden up with the stretch, exposing his small pudgy stomach. He blushes and quickly rights his shirt. Harry is staring at him curiously, elbows propped up on the table. His hair is in wild curls all over his head, mused from moving his head so much on the leather surface of the table. His cheeks are red, lips matching the shade, and his eyes are blown and glassy. He looks more like a guy that just got fucked instead of a guy getting tattooed.

Louis feels his cock twitch again, reminding him that he still finds Harry attractive, like he could fucking forget. _Down boy_ he tells it silently, but it doesn't obey the command. He wonders if Harry would be obedient in bed. Fuck. He needs to stop these thoughts before he gets hard and can’t physically hide it. Then Harry would know for sure, and he would get fucking sued for sexual harassment. All the jury would have to do, though, is look at Harry. Louis could show them a picture of what he looks like in this exact moment and they would fully understand. The charges will be dropped faster than a porn star’s underwear.

“Okay, don’t want your back to get achy. It would be hard to lay on it that way,” Harry says slowly, gaze following Louis’ every movement as he removes his gloves and starts cleaning the area a bit, not wanting to leave it a mess for when they come back. Louis tries not to physically react to Harry’s comment. The man seriously could not be flirting with him. This has to be a fucking dream, Harry a figment of his overworked and underfucked imagination. That has to be it. Maybe he should go find Liam and ask him to pinch him. That’s what you do to wake up from a dream right, pinch yourself? At this point, Louis needs to slam his dick in a doorway to wake the fuck up because he is in deep. He would like to be deep into other things instead, but that is neither here nor there.

“Alright, up you get. Wanna get coffee?” Louis asks and before he even realises what he is doing, his body is betraying him again. His hand, to its own accord mind you, reaches out to grab Harry’s and pulls him up. Harry’s hand eveloples his and all Louis can think about is the size difference and how the coolness of the rings are a stark contrast to the warmness of his skin. Louis feels like he has been electrocuted, but he can’t seem to pull his hand away. Holy fuck. He really should. He has been holding onto Harry for far longer than is necessary, but he is just so fucking warm.

“Sure. Um-- can I like-- put my shirt back on?” Harry asks, looking uncertain.

“Yeah. I’ll wrap it up so you can put a shit on without debris or germs in it while we are out and about,” Louis tells him, grabbing the clear wrap.

“Shame. I was enjoying being shirtless.” Harry’s full red lips are crooked into another smirk, eyes glistening. Louis really should be used to it by now. Harry has smirked at him more than Louis has breathed air today, which isn’t saying much since he seems to have forgotten how to do that basic human function while around Harry.

He decides to go out on a limb. “I was enjoying it, too.” He tries to go for nonchalant, but he thinks he may have missed the mark, however he shoots Harry a smirk of his own. What’s that old adage? If you can't beat them join the. Two can play this game and Louis intends to win.

“So--um-- coffee?” Harry stammers out as Louis begins wrapping the new tattoo. He makes it a point to touch Harry’s warm skin, goosebumps blossoming over the surface.

“Yeah. There’s a coffee shop right down the street. My treat,” Louis says handing Harry his shirt getting a whiff of Harry’s cologne. It smells of vanilla, tobacco, and something Louis can't quite place. Louis wonders if Harry would taste like that as well.

“Thank you.” Harry takes the shirt, their fingers brushing on the material causing a spark to travel down Louis’ spine, settling somewhere between his heart and his stomach, burrowing its way in, making the spot it’s permanent home.


	2. Nut Juice and Need-To-Nut Navy Balls

“What do you want?” Louis asks, almost to the front of the line at his favourite coffee shop.

“Could I please have an iced caramel macchiato with almond milk,” Harry says and what? Almond milk? Is he serious? Isn’t that more along the lines of nut juice? If he wanted nut juice, Louis could have given him that hours ago. How does one even get almond milk? Almonds don’t have tits to milk do they? If they do, they must be incredibly small and impossible to actually milk. What kind of hippie dippie shit is almond milk anyways? Louis, however, doesn’t say any of this outloud because, for whatever reason, he doesn't want to hurt Harry’s feelings. A shock really, since Louis usually gives zero fucks about anyone’s feelings always preferring the truth over any type of lie. Hurting Harry’s feelings though, just seemed inherently wrong. Like stomping on a bunny or throwing a baby chipmunk into a well.

“Sure thing,” Louis replies smiling at Harry. Harry returns it, and that’s it. That’s the reason to not hurt Harry’s feelings. His fucking smile and his lickable dimples. Louis realises he never wants to do anything to take the smile off Harry’s face. Unless of course it is being replaced with a look of orgasmic pleasure, in which case he'd make an exception. Louis steps up to the counter and orders for them, barely suppressing a cringe when he uses  the words ‘almond milk’ and ‘iced coffee’ in the same sentence. Why would anyone ruin a perfectly good coffee by making it cold? Coffee is supposed be served hot enough to melt Louis’ ice cold heart.

“Thank you,” Harry says after Louis has ordered for them and paid. They walk down to the end of the counter to await their coffees. At least Louis’ is a coffee. He isn't sure what the thing is Harry ordered, but it sure as shit isn’t coffee. Harry stands close to him, so close Louis swears he can feel his body heat seeping into him. Harry is fidgeting, swaying from one foot to the other and twisting his rings around his long fingers. Louis is going to wank thinking of those fingers wrapped around his dick, tonight.

“Are you ok?” Harry asks then, and Louis is momentarily confused by his question.

“‘Course. Why wouldn't I be?” He replies and Harry continues to fiddle with his rings. Louis wishes he would stop doing that. Not really.

“You-- Um-- you moaned,” Harry stammers, going for embarrassed, but Louis swears he sees a mischievous glint in his far too green, hard on inducing eyes. “Is your back hurting or something?”

And Louis freezes. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Did he just moan out loud to the thought of Harry’s hands on his cock? Oh gods, he must have. Shit. Think quick, Tomlinson.

“Oh-- um-- yeah. It's a little sore. I’ll-- I'll be fine. No need to worry. All part of the job.” He hopes his lie is convincing, but given the cheeky smirk Harry is giving him he knows he's not succeeded.

“Maybe you should look into massage therapy. I know a guy, and he has magical fingers I swear--” Harry says, but Louis doesn't hear the rest. Magical fingers he says. If that’s the case, then Louis wholeheartedly believes in magic. Fuck may as well throw in Santa Claus and Gandalf. All he can focus on is Harry, naked and oiled up and the way Harry is wiggling his fingers in front of Louis’ face for emphasis. Louis wants nothing more than to suck Harry’s long fingers into his mouth, to swirl his tongue around the tips and let Harry fuck him with them. Feeling his warm oiled skin sliding against his.

Oh fuck. Not _again_. Louis is hard and in public and his balls feel like they may spontaneously combust. Blue isn’t even the right color choice for them at this point. More like needs-to-nut navy. That’s a color, right? He needed to come four hard on’s ago, and at this point, he's convinced he's been in more pain today than Harry has. He also makes a mental note to send a gift certificate for a free tattoo to the CEO’s at Adidas, it’s the least he can do to thank them for the wonder that is their jogging bottoms.

“Order for Tommo?” He hears the young girl behind the counter say, and he feels like he could kiss her. Well, maybe a hug, because kissing a girl just sounds gross and wrong and all kinds of eww icky. He's never been more thankful for an iced, nut juice, caramel whatever in his life. He turns around and suppresses a wince as his raging hard on brushes against the fabric of his joggers when he moves. He is beyond sensitive now, and he takes their drinks from her with a tight lipped smile. He hands Harry his, then turns back to add a few sugars to his own.

“You ready to--” Louis stops dead mid sentence, about to ask Harry if he is ready to go, with his coffee halfway to his mouth. The sight he is met with is obscene, and he almost burns himself as his coffee spills from the cup. Louis is suddenly seeing the appeal of cold coffee, cold beverages and straws in general. Fuck whatever marine life keeps choking on them as long as Harry keeps sucking obscenely. They can either learn to use a straw or die for all Louis cares in that moment. Harry needs to choke on Louis’ dick instead and save the poor Sea Turtles or Dugongs or whatever weird animal thinks straws are tasty, from a terrible fate. All in the name of saving the animals and the environment and all that. Harry’s a flower child hippie, surely he’d understand. He probably has a ‘Save the Camels’ sticker on his car even though Louis doesn't think camels are in danger nor do they need saving.

Harry stops mid suck, his cheeks hollowed, startling green eyes wide and his supple lips puckered seductively around the straw. He gives Louis a questioning look, no doubt noting that he'd stopped speaking mid sentence like a fucking idiot, and Louis mentally slaps himself. Harry pulls his lips from the straw slowly, a tiny droplet of the cool coffee lingering on his bottom lip, and Louis can't keep his eyes off it. Before he can even process what he's about to do, he reaches a hand up towards Harry. Harry's eyes seem to widen further, his perfectly shaped eyebrows hitting his hairline as Louis’ thumb inches closer and closer to him. He doesn't try to stop Louis, and Louis doesn't try to stop himself either.

Louis’ thumb makes contact with Harry's lip, and it's like New Years Eve fireworks, a fanfare and a Hallelujah Chorus all rolled into one heart stopping moment. Holy fucking shit. However, it's when Louis wipes the droplet from it, bringing his thumb to his own mouth and sucking, that his brain finally catches up with him. Shit. What the actual fuck just happened? He may as well have dropped to his knees and sucked Harry off after that display. He may as well have fucking signed his own death wish now, so at this point it's go big or go home.

“You know, I've never understood the appeal of iced coffee,” he starts, hoping his voice sounds as flirtatious and seductive as he tries to make it. “But I'm starting to understand why everyone raves on about it. It tastes _amazing_.” Did he just fucking moan that word at Harry? Fuck. What in Satan's name is Harry doing to him? But he rambles on anyway. He’s really going to fucking regret this. “Although I can think of something else that would probably taste even better.”

“Maybe you should taste that instead then.” At Harry’s words, Louis’ brain short circuits. He knows he is staring again, open mouthed at Harry, but he just can’t seem to close the damn thing around him. Perhaps he needs something in it, but that isn’t the point. The point is that he is losing this game or whatever it is with Harry. Louis hates losing. Harry just smirks then walks off, sashaying his hips as he does so. A groan comes deep from Louis chest, as he blinks trying to will his hard on away for the 872nd time this morning. He follows Harry, mostly looking at his bum in those sinfully tight jeans as he makes his way to a small table in the corner. Too small. He would surely be touching Harry again once they sit down. He’s liable to start humping Harry’s leg like a dog on heat if he keeps this shit up much longer.

Louis takes a seat next to Harry, attempting not to touch his warm skin or else he may actually jizz in his joggers. He is still touching him, but not too much. He can deal with that. He thinks. He hopes. Harry looks at his phone for a second, smiles then types something. He puts it back in his pocket, quickly. “Who has you smiling like that?” Louis asks, because he may or may not be jealous. Who the fuck could make Harry smile like that? He wants to be the only one to make Harry smile that way. Okay, so maybe he is very jealous. Louis can admit that to himself.

“Oh, just Niall,” Harry replies, and that’s it. That’s all he gets? Who the fuck is _Niall_? What kind of name is that anyways. Did his parents want to name him Neil, but his mom was too fucked out on the epidural and accidentally misspelled it?

“Oh. He your boyfriend?” Louis asks. He goes for causal, but he knows he misses the mark because he hisses the words, barely opening his jaw to form them.

“Niall?” Harry laughs, wincing when his shirt rubs against his new tattoo. Louis doesn't know what’s so funny. Maybe Harry isn’t gay like he had thought. Maybe Harry is into girls which just seems wrong. Harry looks like the type of person who would wear lipstick and women’s knickers. Oh gods, now Louis is picturing Harry in just that. His full lips colored with pink lipstick, leaving a stain around his dick, and his pert bum covered in lacy knickers. Fuck. Louis’ imagination should be illegal. “No. Niall is just a friend. Straight as an arrow. Just thinking about him like that is plain gross. I don’t have a boyfriend, actually.”

Oh, right. Harry. Niall. Talking. Right. Louis can do that. He can talk about Harry and Niall, and, wait, did Harry just say he didn’t have a boyfriend? Louis thinks back for a moment, his brain getting confused as he went from horny, to jealous, back to horny, now landing on somewhere around elation. Harry is single, now how does Louis tell him that he is also a gay single man without actually saying those words? Fuck it, he is just going to say it. “I’m single, too. No boyfriend here.”

“Good to know.” Harry’s eyes are doing that twinkling thing again that makes Louis start singing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star in his head because they are so goddamn pretty. Prettier than stars even. The stars would fucking jealous of Harry. They talk a little bit more as Louis desperately tries to avert his gaze every time Harry sucks on that damn straw, his hard on finally went away and he doesn't need another, thank you very much. After they both finish, they make their way back to the shop to finish Harry’s piece. By the time they walk through the door of Louis’ tattoo room, Harry is already taking off his shirt again. At this point, Louis shouldn’t be affected. He shouldn’t, but for some reason Little Louis can’t be arsed to care.

Louis doesn’t say anything as he slips on a fresh pair of of latex gloves and gets to work prepping the area again. Harry’s alabaster skin is red from the outline, but he hasn’t bled much, so that’s a plus. Harry just watches with wide eyes, beginning to squirm a bit on the table. Louis now knows the squirming isn’t because of nervousness from the pain of a tattoo, but he can’t figure out why Harry squirms. Maybe it’s something that he will figure out over the next two hours. Louis, as much as he hates to, or maybe kind of loves to, resumes his previous position.

“Alright, time to fill this baby in. A lot of clients say this part isn’t too bad, and I have to agree with them. I think the outline is much worse.” Louis is rambling now, but he just can’t help it. Harry skin is so fucking warm under his elbows and the steady pace of his breathing is just so relaxing. He tends to ramble when he is relaxed, his already questionable filter just fucking gone with the bloody wind.

“I don't think any of it is all that bad. Pain doesn’t bother me in the way it bothers others,” Harry replies, smiling down at Louis, and what? That is an interesting choice of phrasing. What the fuck does that even mean? How does it bother him then? Louis’ mind is racing with possibilities most are along the line of the kinkiest porn he can find.

They talk more as Louis fills in the moth-er-fly, that’s what he has decided to call it. It feels like he has known Harry for years given the easy flow of conversation. They talk about everything including their families, friends, and movies. He learns Harry has an older sister, in turn, Louis tells him about all of his sisters and his little brother, not being able to keep the fondness from his voice. Louis has to pause for Harry to squeal over how cute Louis’ little toddler siblings would be so he takes pity on him pointing to a picture of them pinned to the wall. Their conversation dies down a bit, as Louis tries to ignore the occasional moan coming from Harry’s chest.

When he gets to the last portion, the top left side of the wing, Louis has to reposition himself, so he can reach. He has to lay his body mostly on top of Harry. His elbow grazes against something, and what the fuck? Is Harry-- is Harry hard? Harry moans again, when Louis’ elbow rubs against the area, the sound going straight to Louis’ cock. Fuck. He needs to focus on the tattoo, but all his brain is currently able to do is put all the pieces together. All of Harry’s comments about pain, the moaning, the glazed eyes and now the hard on can only mean one thing. Harry has a pain kink. Fuck. Oh Gods. This can’t be happening. An incredibly sexy man with a pain kink has just fallen into Louis’ lap like a present on Christmas morning. He may as well have had a bow wrapped around his dick with a little tag saying ‘Suck for Surprise’.

Louis has to mentally stop his train of thought because fuck, is it getting hot in this room? The temperature feels like it is at least the same heat as what Louis thinks Harry’s mouth would be if he ever wrapped those lips around his cock. Fuck. His poor cock. He is rock hard again with the realisation. Okay, he just needs to finish this last part of the tattoo then it will be over. Then he can run home as fast as his little legs can carry him and have a wank in peace. Scratch that, maybe just go to the back room. He doesn't even know if he can make it home without the friction from his joggers making him come.

“Hey Lou.” Comes Liam’s voice from behind him. Liam? What? Liam is here? He didn’t even realise anyone in the world existed outside himself and Harry. Right Liam. His best friend. His shop co-owner. Liam totally exists and has been here the whole time. Did Liam hear Harry moan? The idea makes him both incredibly jealous and impossibly embarrassed. Fuck.

“Yeah?” Louis asks, turning to look at his friend, making sure to keep his arm over the bulge in Harry’s jeans, not wanting or needing Liam to see that. Liam looks surprised for a moment, maybe Louis looks as fucked out as he feels.

“Um-- I’m gonna head out for an early lunch. My appointment canceled on me, and I need to run a few errands. Will you be okay here, alone?” Liam asks, standing awkwardly in the doorway, hands rested on either side of the frame. Would Louis be okay here alone? That is an excellent fucking question, because he won't be alone. He and Harry will be alone, and holy fuck. Louis knows fuck all about cooking, but that sounds like a recipe for disaster.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Lie. It’s all a lie. Louis isn’t fine. He probably never will be again. Even if he never sees Harry again he knows his life, and wanking material, will be changed forever. He is fucked and not in the fun way. Just fucked in every other way possible.

“Alright, mate. See you in a bit,” Liam says, then glances one more time between Louis and Harry before he leaves the room completely. A few seconds later, Louis hears the ring of bell above the door signaling the he and Harry are truly alone. Fuck.

Louis silently goes back to laying the dark ink into Harry’s skin, concentrating on not fucking up and wiping away the excess doing his best to ignore Harry’s cock, which only seems to be getting harder as the time ticks on. Louis knows the feeling. This time, his own hard on isn’t going away. It is borderline painful, and he can’t stop his mind from creating every possible scenario involving a very naked Harry in pink lipstick and lacy knickers begging to be spanked. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. He doesn’t know how much longer he can do this. Has anyone ever died from a raging hard on? If not, Louis is sure he is well on his way. That’s not even a satisfying death. At least let him die coming, for the gods’ sake.

“Sorry,” Harry’s deep voice fills up the room moments later. Louis feels like he may actually be choking. He can’t think. Harry’s voice and his imagination is fucking with his brain.

“For what?” Louis ask, glancing up. He is so close to being done with this goddamn moth-er-fly, he can taste it. Although he’d much prefer to be tasting something else right now. Like how his own come would taste on Harry’s tongue or the little droplet of sweat that is trailing down the side of Harry’s long, luscious neck. Fuck it. He needs to finish this moth-er-fly and fast. He can’t take another second of this self inflicted torture.

“Um…” Harry glances down to the bulge in his pants, cheeks tinting red, lip between his teeth. Louis wants to groan from the unfairness of it all. So he does. He can’t sit here in agonising silence any longer. If Harry can moan and squirm and flirt the pants off Louis, then the least he can do is return the favour, surely. He is nothing if not a gentleman.

“Sorry, is my leaning on your hard on bothering you?” Louis shoots him a cheeky smiling, eyes crinkling at the corners. Harry’s own eyes widen at the comment; he bites his lip so hard, Louis worries he is going to draw blood.

“Feels nice, actually,” Harry all but whispers, staring intently down at where Louis’ elbow is touching him above the fabric of his jeans. Louis goes back to finishing this fucking tattoo. Only the white to go. Halle-fucking-lujah! If there is a god, Louis would thank him or her or it. Fuck, at this point he would pray to a Llama named Kuzco claiming to be the emperor of an ancient south american society if it meant he could get this sodding tattoo finished and his dick sucked.

Louis silently dips into the white, adding highlights as fast as he can without being sloppy. He would rather slit his wrist than fuck this tattoo up. But his master plan of a speedy finish, something he never imagined himself ever wanting, all comes undone when Harry starts to writhe and moan beneath him. Fuck. Louis wishes he could come undone instead. Harry isn’t even trying to hide it anymore, and Louis has to stop because he just won’t keep still. His hair is fanned out around his head in a halo of messy ringlets when Louis looks up at him, his head thrown back, eyes closed in pleasure. Is he getting off on this pain? What the actual fuck? This is the most erotic thing Louis has ever witnessed. Fuck Harry looks so sexy like this, and Louis wants to mark his skin white, but not with ink. He thinks the colours pink, red and purple would also make excellent additions to Harry’s perfect alabaster skin.

“Done,” Louis says five minutes later and his voice is strained, even to his own ears. The word comes out broken and raspy, like his throat had just been fucked raw. At least he wishes that was the reason, it would at least be worth all of this pain and need-to-nut navy balls he is currently experiencing. Harry doesn't answer, just looks at him with glazed over eyes, pupils so large, the green is almost gone, as Louis removes his gloves, tossing them in a nearby bin. They look at each other for a moment, caught somewhere in the limbo between lets go our separate ways and lets fuck till our brains fall out.

The latter wins out because somehow, they go from staring at each other to shoving their tongues in each other’s mouth. They skip the pretenses of chasteness entirely, going straight to tonsil hockey in a matter of seconds. Harry tastes like coffee, caramel, and everything sinful and unholy. His lips are soft and wet as he pulls Louis into him, not even wincing when the material of Louis’ shirt scrapes his new tattoo.

“Fuck. Need you,” Harry mumbles, his voice tickling Louis’ vocal cords as he says the words into his mouth. Louis yanks Harry’s hair, pulling his head back to finally start marking the long column of Harry’s neck. Louis has been suppressing the urge to mark Harry for the better part of four hours now, and he’s thankful that Harry seems to have a pain kink because he’s not going to be gentle. The time for gentle has passed. It flew out the window with his sanity the moment Harry started moaning and writhing on the table below him. Fuck. Louis wants to taste and feel everything Harry is and has to offer him and he wants it now.

Louis feels Harry’s hands at the hem of his t-shirt, breaking their kiss just long enough for Harry to yank if over his head. The air does nothing to cool down his heated body, Harry’s large hands tracing over his tattoos not helping matters. He doesn't even think as he pops the button of Harry’s jeans. Their kiss breaks with an obscene sucking noise, as Louis yanks Harry’s jeans and pants down his impossibly long legs. Louis pauses for a moment, taking in Harry’s body. Holy fucking shit, it is even better than he could have imagined. Harry is pale all over, the moth-er-fly serving as a stark contrast to the rest of him. He is mostly hairless, just a dark trail leading from his belly button to a trimmed patch around his groin. His dick is painfully hard, the head purple with pressure. He is breathtaking.

“Please,” Harry begs, writhing again on the table. Of all of the scenarios Louis had expected for his day to follow, seeing a beautiful naked man begging to be fucked on his tattoo table certainly wasn't one of them. The simple request snaps Louis out of it. He smiles down at Harry, noticing the way Harry’s fingers are pawing at his joggers. Louis makes no move to help him, wanting to tease the other man a bit. He starts with Harry’s collar bones, biting into the soft skin, leaving mark after mark that would be there to claim him for days. Harry lets hims do it, moaning loudly with each new bruise. Harry’s cock is leaking precome, smearing on Louis’ abdomen making everything that much more intense.

“Suck,” Louis commands, leading his fingers up to Harry’s mouth. Harry doesn't even protest as he draws the digits in, sucking them into the wet heat of his mouth greedily. Louis starts sucking on one of Harry’s nipples, biting down and groaning when Harry splits two of his fingers with a warm tongue. Louis bites hard, prompting Harry to moan around his fingers. Holy fuck. How is harry even real. He shoves his fingers deeper into Harry’s throat, looking up to see his eyes start to water.

“You like that? You like it when I choke you on my fingers?” Louis asks, watching as Harry nods furiously around them, curls bouncing with the action. “You’d like it even better if it was my cock you were choking on,” Louis responds. Harry sucks hard and moans at the mere idea. Holy fucking shit, how is Louis going to make it through whatever in the fuck they are doing without coming too soon. He keeps talking.

“That’s it baby. Choke on them. Get ‘em nice and wet.” Louis shoves another finger in, this time even deeper than the last. Harry gags a bit, but keeps sucking on them as if they are straw. Louis traces Harry’s dry puckered hole, wondering how warm it will be wrapped around his dick. He feels like he has to know now, or he may actually die. He withdraws his now soaked fingers, Harry whimpering around them. “Don’t worry. I’ll give you something to preoccupy that pretty little mouth with soon enough,” Louis promises, using a wet finger to trace Harry’s hole, pushing past the ring of muscle. Harry moans even though Louis knows it must be uncomfortable with no lube.

“Fuck. More,” Harry says under his breath, Louis’ eyebrows shoot too his hairline. Surely Harry isn’t ready for another finger, but when Harry starts bucking his hips on Louis’ digit, moaning in abandon, Louis decides to add another slick finger to Harry tight hole. Holy fuck is he tight and hot.

“You want more? Are you a slut for it? Want my fingers so bad you’re begging?” Louis phrases it like it’s a question, but it’s not. He looks down, almost coming at the sight of his two fingers buried deep into Harry. He spits over the area, making it even wetter to help slide when he starts scissoring his fingers. Louis reaches one hand up, yanking Harry’s hair, forcing his head sideways to bite on his neck. Harry moans loud and long. Louis has come to the conclusion that Harry likes pain. Louis wishes he could just come in general, but he has to hold off. He glances over to the side of the room, finding inspiration.

“Fuck. Harry. Look so good wrapped around my fingers. Bet you can’t wait to be wrapped around my dick. You’ll be gagging for it by the time I’m done with you.” Harry nods, mouth open and eyes wide as he watches Louis. Louis, not removing his two fingers, respositions Harry, so he is laying sideways on the leather table, his ass perched on the edge, legs opened wide. Louis then kneels in front of him, wanting to get the area nice and wet. He doesn't want to hurt Harry too much. He has never rimmed a dude on the first date before, but this isn’t a date and today seems to be a day of first.

“Want you to watch, baby. Want you to watch while my fingers fuck you open, and I eat out that pretty little hole of yours,” Louis says licking a fat strip from his taint to his balls and nodding towards the full length mirror on the wall. When Harry doesn't move quick enough, Louis removes his tongue from the area as he takes his free hand and tangles it in Harry’s curls, yanking his head towards the mirror. Harry moans and shuts his eyes, and Louis can’t have that. “Keep ‘em open. Want you to watch. You have to be a  good boy for me.”

“Yeah. Good boy,” Harry mummers eyes now fixed on the mirror. Louis is trying not to look, fearing he would come just at the sight of seeing Harry’s long legs spread wide, his fingers stretching him open, his tongue now alongside his fingers. Just thinking about it has Louis moaning into the skin of Harry’s rim where he is currently nipping at the soft tissue and flicking his tongue. The sounds Harry is making are filthy, and Louis is so painfully hard, he doesn't know how he will last.

“Want a third? Wanna be filled up, baby?” Harry nods furiously, still not looking away from the mirror barely blinking. He is being such a good boy, Louis decides to reward him with a third licking between the first two as he does so. “Three fingers deep with no lube. Fuck. You like the pain? The burn? The stretch? You're a dirty boy aren’t you?” Louis has no idea where all of this is coming from. He normally wouldn’t talk like this during the first time, but fuck, he can’t help it. Harry does something to his brain.

He begins fucking his fingers in and out of Harry moving his tongue in tandem. He glances in the mirror every so often to watch, which is a mistake really. Harry’s pupils are blown, hair messy, and cheeks red. He looks so fucking beautiful, it hurts Louis’ chest. Suddenly, Louis removes his fingers and his tongue. He pushes the small metal table to the side, not caring about the equipment on top. He wants everything away from the mirror. His view unobstructed. “On your knees,” he demands, watching as Harry scrambles to get off the table, falling to his knees and immediately places his hands behind his back. Fuck. Louis almost groans at the site, but he suppresses it somehow.

He circles Harry slowly, Harry’s eyes following the movement in the reflection of the mirror. “What do you want, baby?” Louis asks, standing behind Harry and yanking his head back, using one small finger to trace Harry’s red lips. Harry just moans in response. “Use your words, baby, tell me what you want.”

“Wanna suck your cock,” Harry says finally, eyes fixed on the bulge in Louis’ joggers as he walks in front of Harry. His voice is low, so low Louis struggles to hear him, but it reverberates through his body like fire and he can't get enough of it.

“Are you gonna be a good boy for Daddy? Let me fuck you how you deserve? Let me tease you how you’ve been teasing me all day?” Fuck. Louis actually let slip his secret kink. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This could get really awkward or really hot depending on the next words uttered from Harry’s sinful mouth.

Harry looks up at Louis, eyes wide and looking somehow both innocent and wicked. He swallows, the marks on his neck moving with the action.

“Yes, Daddy, I will.”

Louis thinks he stops breathing when he hears Harry’s deep fucked out voice utter those words. Breathing. Right. He can do that. He can, although he hasn't seemed to be able to do it correctly all damn day. Fucking Harry and his pretty mouth making him forget how to do basic functions. Functions his body should be able to do without conscious thought. Fuck. He glances over at the mirror met with the sight of Harry on his knees, looking up at him. Only at Louis, and it does something to him. It snaps him out of his trance like a rubber band being pulled back and then released.

Louis takes both of his thumbs and hooks them into the waistline of his joggers pushing them down and stepping out of them quickly. He uses his foot to kick them out of the way, not wanting anything to fuck this up. When he glances back to Harry, his hands are still clasped behind his back but his mouth is open wide, just waiting. Louis has to close his eyes and mentally shake himself  because holy fucking shit. How in in the gods’ name did he get so fucking lucky. Someone remind him to thank the pantheon of gods later for this because he must be doing something right.

“That's it, baby. Nice and wide for Daddy,” Louis says and watches as Harry stretches his big mouth even wider. He fists Harry’s curls as he lines his painfully hard cock up with Harry’s mouth. He feeds his dick between Harry’s red, red lips. Fuck. Everything is so warm and so wet and fuck. He bites his lips to keep from coming, but Harry is having none of that. He starts sucking immediately. Louis groans.

“Fuck, baby. Your mouth feels so good on me. You love it don’t you? Love having a dick in your mouth. My dick. Filling it up, choking you. You’re such a fucking cock slut,” Louis says mostly to distract himself, but Harry moans around him, the vibrations going straight to Louis’ already tightening balls. He begins pumping his hips into Harry’s waiting heat. Harry’s eyes start to water, but Louis doesn’t let up fisting his curls to hold him steady.

“Watch me fuck your mouth,” Louis demands, loosening his grip just enough to let Harry glance over at the mirror again. Harry watches with hooded, glazed over eyes as Louis pistons his hips, forcing his cock deeper into his mouth with each thrust. Louis can see it and feel it when Harry gags around his hard length, but Harry doesn't protest. He simply kneels in place, taking everything Louis has been fantasizing about giving him since he set foot in his shop this morning. Their eyes meet in the mirror, and Louis utters a guttural moan, grabbing onto Harry's hair tightly. On the next thrust he holds Harry's head tightly, his cock buried deep in his mouth.

Louis can feel Harry's hot breath against the skin at the bottom of his shaft, can see it in the mirror as tears start to stream down Harry's face, strings of his warm spit leaking from his hot mouth, dribbling onto Louis’ balls and into a puddle at his feet. It's the most erotic thing Louis has ever seen and after the count of five he releases Harry, his cock twitching painfully when Harry gasps for air.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Harry says as soon as he is able to breathe again. But he doesn't say it to Louis, he says it to Louis’ figure reflected back at them in the mirror. Fuck. If Louis dies today he will die in ecstasy. Holy fuck. Where has Harry been all his life?

“So good for me. Love watching you choke on my cock. Look so beautiful being gagged by Daddy’s cock.” It's the truth. Louis has never seen a more beautiful sight. There's a lot to be said for hipster, iced nut juice drinking boys, with green eyes that remind Louis of a far away meadow and chocolate curls he wants to drown in. Fuck.

“Stand up,” Louis demands a bloody brilliant idea hitting him like a freight train. Harry shakily gets to his feet not taking his eyes off Louis’ reflection. Louis goes to stand behind the taller man, nestling his hard leaking dick between Harry cheeks. Harry moans in pleasure. He spreads them for a moment, exposing Harry’s loose wet hole. He then uses his hand to tap the head of his dick right on Harry’ rim, but not entering. They moan this time. Not breaking eye contact in the mirror, Louis slowly reaches around grasping Harry’s hard cock in his hand firmly. He runs his thumb over the slit, using the moisture gathered there to help the side.

“Don't take your eyes off the mirror,” Louis says firmly into the crook of Harry’s silky neck, not pushing his movements as he brings his other hand around to trace the new moth-er-fly tattoo under Harry’s ribs. He knows it must sting, but Harry just moans, green eyes wide and glassy.

“Quiet,” Louis says, circling his hips a bit feeling the wet flesh clamp around him. Harry moans again, so Louis traces his hand up Harry's torso, grazing two nipples in the process. He presses firmly on a newly formed bruise, a silent gesture that Harry is his. He lightly presses on Harry's throat. “If you're not gonna be quite, I'll have to gag you again.” Without warning, Louis shoves three fingers into Harry's mouth matching his thrust to his fist around Harry's cock. Harry's eyes are watering, but he makes no move to stop Louis. His arms are just hanging limply at his side as he watches the scene unfold before him.

“So lovely like this. Full of my fingers. So greedy too. Sucking them like your life depends on it. Being so quiet. You're such a  good boy for Daddy.” At the last word, Harry moans deep and low filling the small space up with the sound.

“Gonna come for me, hmm?” Louis asks even though it's not really a question. He hasn't even known Harry a full six hours, but he knows he is going to come soon. Regardless, Harry nods around his fingers with pleading eyes. Louis suddenly realises what Harry wants. He wants _permission_. Holy fuck balls. Harry is begging for permission with his eyes.

“Go ahead, baby. Let Daddy see you come,” Louis whispers directly into Harry's ear, his nose being tickled by Harry's curls. Harry whimpers around his fingers then Louis watches in the mirror as Harry comes hard. Louis catches most of his release with his hand, working Harry through it. What he doesn't manage to catch hits the mirror and Louis can't look away. He watches Harry's chest rise and fall as he breathes rapidly, his new tattoo fluttering with it and his come sliding slowly down the glass.

Once Harry goes even more limp in Louis’ hands, Louis pulls away, first making sure Harry can stand on his own. Louis looks around, finding the saddle stool had been pushed into the corner. He grabs it with his clean hand, lining it up in front of the mirror. He sits down on it, getting Harry's attention. Harry looks down at him with wide fucked out eyes as Louis starts spreading Harry's own come on his erection. Louis has to close his eyes for a second to stop himself from coming because the friction on his ignored cock feels so good paired with the warmness of Harry’s come. “Want you to ride me,” Louis says, planting his feet firmly on the floor. Harry nods, and straddles him.

Louis grabs onto Harry's hips tightly once he is nestled on his lap. Who knew saddle stools had so many uses? It's the perfect shape for this and as a bonus feature, it's height adjustable. Harry is looking at him with the most fucked out look on his face, his big hands resting on Louis’ shoulders. Louis doesn't say anything, as he presses both thumbs down into Harry's hip bones. He watches his face, his cock twitching expectantly as he increases pressure and Harry's eyes widen, his head falling back, his mouth open, panting.

Louis can't get enough of how responsive Harry is to his touch, how their bodies seem as though they are made for each other. So different, yet so well suited. He leans forwards then and places hungry kisses up the middle of Harry’s chest, taking a nipple into his mouth as he passes, clamping down on it with his teeth. “Oh, fuck!” Harry cries as Louis pulls on it, swiveling his tongue around the hardened nub, thumbs still digging into his hip bones, his fingers making bruises on his hips.

“You like that baby? You like it when I'm rough?” Louis can't help the words from escaping his mouth, speaking against Harry's collar bones. He feels it when Harry moans in response, however it's not the response he's looking for. He lifts his hand and brings it down firmly onto Harry's pert bum, the slap as skin meets skin resonating around them. “I asked you a question,” Louis growls and Harry looks at him then, a serious expression covering his face. “Answer me.”

“Yes, Daddy. Love it when you're rough,” Harry pants out, and fuck Louis may actually self combust. The look in Harry's eyes is almost primal and the gravelly tone of his voice is almost too much to handle. He needs to be inside of Harry. Now.

“You wanna ride me, hmm? Want my fat cock in your pretty little asshole?” Why he is still asking Harry questions he doesn't know. Harry will only answer them, with his fucked out voice and wasn't he trying not to come? As if on cue Harry answers his questions.

“Yes, Daddy. Need it. Need you to fill me up. Please, Daddy.” Harry is practically whining now, and it's the final straw, Louis can't delay the inevitable any longer.

“Stand,” Louis commands and Harry does as he's instructed, hands behind his back head bowed. Holy fuck he looks so breathtaking like this. Louis swallows hard, his breathing accelerating as he looks at Harry. “Now turn around and face the mirror.” Again Harry silently does as he's asked, his eyes never leaving the floor. “Good boy. Such a good boy for me.” Louis can't help but praise him and he can see Harry’s cock is hard again, now throbbing and twitching in response, precome glistening at the slit.

Louis wheels himself over so that he is directly behind him, Harry now an arms length from the mirror, Louis’ face lining up with his backside. Thank the gods Harry is so tall. “Spread your legs for me, baby,” Louis says and Harry obeys without a second thought. He doesn't question Louis, placing all of his trust in a man he met mere hours ago, and it's a fucking power trip. Louis can't decide which is more erotic the sight of Harry naked before him, or how willing he is to submit. Fuck. “So good for me, aren't you?” Louis traces a finger between Harry's cheeks and he can feel Harry’s hole twitch as he touches him, straining to remain still under Louis’ ministrations.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Louis will never tire of hearing those two words coming from Harry's plump, kiss bitten lips. It's like a drug he knows he shouldn't take and yet he keeps coming back for more. He leans forward to bite Harry’s ass cheek, sucking yet another mark into the pale skin. Harry squirms a bit, but doesn't move as Louis sucks a similar mark to match on the other side. Without warning, Louis brings a hand back to slap the meaty skin under the marks, as if the pressure and sting would make them stay and to remind Harry who he belongs to. Louis decides to torture Harry a bit more. “Turn around.”

“But, Daddy, you said to face the mirror.” Harry’s voice is low, eyes wide and innocent. He bites his lip, like he knows he shouldn’t have protested wringing his hands in front of him.

“Well I changed my mind. Can’t Daddy change his mind? Hmm?” Louis asks, slapping Harry cheek again for good measure. Bright red hand prints are now appearing on Harry’s skin where Louis has been spanking him. They look so lovely, it hurts.

“Yes. Sorry, Daddy,” Harry replies bowing his head, and turning around. His cock is now lined up with Louis face.

“Hard for me again?” It wasn’t a question, and Louis doesn't wait for an answer as the licks the dark blue vein on the underside of Harry leaking cock. “Straddle me love.” Louis barely suppresses a hiss as he takes his own fat, now purplish cock in his own hand, holding himself up as Harry straddles him, in one fluid movement. Louis grips Harry’s hip, as Harry begins lowering himself onto his cock. Louis releases a hiss as soon as his head breaches the rim, but Harry doesn’t give himself much time to adjust at all, just sinking down. Louis can’t think. All he can do is feel. Fell Harry’s heat gripping his shaft so hard, Louis fears he may actually die from the pressure of it all. He can feel Harry’s large hands on his shoulders, steadying himself, rings cool against his overheated skin.

Louis peeks over Harry’s shoulder, looking in the mirror. The muscles in Harry’s back and legs are visibly straining, to keep himself still. Louis' cock is nestled deep. “You can move now, baby,” Louis tells him, not removing his eyes as Harry begins moving his hips, using strong legs to work himself up and down on Louis’ aching shaft. Holy fucking hell. He must be dead because this has to be heaven. Not just feeling, but actually watching as Harry moves on his dick. It’s the most errotic thing Louis has ever seen. He can’t seem to pull his eyes away from the spot where they are joining. Harry is so hot around him, he is afraid the flesh on his dick is going to burn off, but he isn’t going to complain. If his dick burns off because of Harry, then he will walk the rest of his life as a dickless man.

“Bet you wish you could see this, baby,” Louis says, Harry’s curls bouncing with his nod.

“Yes, Daddy,” Harry moans the words right into Louis’ ear. “Please tell me. Tell me what it looks like. Please.” Harry has a begging edge to his tone, almost desperate, and it is the sexiest thing Louis has ever heard.  

“You’re taking my dick so well, love. Bet it hurts with no lube, but you like that don’t you?” Louis doesn't wait for an answer, just keeps talking because it may be the only thing keeping him from coming at the present moment. Louis reaches one hand around, tracing the area where they are joining, feeling and watching as his shaft goes deep into Harry’s waiting body. “That’s it. Fuck yourself on it. Show me how much you love having my dick inside of you. Splitting you open with your own come.” Harry moans with the words, quickening his his pace. He is now lifting up and slamming down hard, the slapping noise Harry’s hard cock makes when he comes down resonating throughout the room.

Louis peels his eyes away from the mirror, to watch Harry’s front in full view. His body is covered in a light sheen of sweat, abs crunching with the effort. Louis uses one hand to trace Harry's new tattoo, feeling the raised skin under his fingers. He moves up to trace Harry’s lower nipples then his upper ones, dipping his head to lick and bite the left one. Louis feels it in his mouth when Harry moans low and deep. He fists Harry’s curls again, bringing his mouth down into a punishing kiss, all teeth, tongue and spit. When he puts a bit of pressure on Harry’s throat, not enough to cut off airflow, Harry moans into his mouth, shoving his tongue deeper, licking every part he couldn’t touch. Louis can feel the trail of spit from their kiss on his chin, probably dripping onto Harry’s dick, but he couldn’t care less.

“Daddy. Oh fuck. Oh god. Daddy, please,” Harry begs breaking their kiss and looking into Louis’ eyes. He looks so far gone and so beautiful it has Louis teetering dangerously close to the edge. Louis isn’t quite sure what Harry is begging for, but fuck he wants to give it to him. He would give Harry the world if he asked for it at this current moment.

“Think you can come without my touch?” Louis asks, bending his head down to see into Harry’s eyes.

“I don’t know, Daddy,” Harry answers, looking down in shame.

“Why don’t you try for me, baby. You’ll make Daddy so proud,” Louis says, watching as Harry nods in agreement.

“Want to make Daddy proud,” he mumbles, quickening his pace, moaning into Louis collarbone. Louis uses both hands to still Harry’s hips. Harry looks confused for a brief moment, but then Louis widens his legs, planting his feet firmly on the floor. He looks in the mirror, spreading Harry’s cheeks just appreciating for a moment what he looks like inside the other man. He snaps out of it when Harry whines. He slaps one cheek as punishment for his impertinence, the sound echoing.

“So pretty with my cock in you, filling you up. Bet you feel so full,” Louis says as he begins slowly circling his own hips, moving up into Harry’s waiting heat. It’s hard since there is no back to the stool to brace himself on, but his legs are strong so he makes it work. When his pace is steady, Harry’s breathy moans are all that is filling the room, working their way into every crevice including the spaces between Louis’ rib cage.

“Right-- right there. Oh god. Daddy right there. Please. Fuck. Please. Can I-- can I…?” The question trails off as Harry’s mouth hangs open, tears streaming down his beautiful face, landing on Louis chest then trailing down to pool where Harry’s cock is currently rubbing between their bodies mingling with the spit from their kiss.

“Yeah, baby. Come for me,” Louis moans, not stopping his hips, attempting to keep the rhythm although he is so fucking close. With Louis’ permission, Harry screams and  starts coming, his entire body tightening with the sheer force of it. His hole clenches around Louis’ dick like a vice. Louis grips Harry’s ass, hard and bites his lip to stop himself from coming right then and there. He fucks Harry through it, as best as he can since Harry’s body is clenching around him so tight, he can barely move. He can feel himself about to come, so he pulls Harry off and grabs his own dick, stroking himself quickly. All it takes is three pumps, and he is coming hard, his own release mixing with Harry’s on his own chest and stomach.

Louis looks up and Harry is looking at him with wide eyes. Louis looks back down to their mixed releases, painted on him like a brand. “I’m so messy, baby. Will you help me clean up?”

“Yes, Daddy. I will,” Harry mummers, so far gone and so fucking beautiful. His body is loose and pliant on top of Louis’ giving him so much trust, Louis could cry. Louis slowly swipes one finger through their combined come, and brings it up to Harry’s lips. Harry obediently opens his mouth, and sticks out his tongue obscenely. The sight is so erotic, despite Louis’ recent orgasm, his cock twitches in interest. Louis repeats the motion again and again, Harry eagerly licking it off his fingers, sucking every drop off until there is no more.

They sit in silence for a few moments, their breaths returning to normal, the air in the room rapidly cooling their skin. Louis’ mind is a scatter of thoughts, and he isn’t quite sure how to proceed now that they aren’t in the heat of the moment. Harry has his head resting against his shoulder, eyes closed breathing deeply. He hasn’t rushed out the door without a backwards glance, so Louis takes that as a good sign. He clears his throat awkwardly, not knowing how to tell Harry that his cock is now beginning to hurt, not wanting to spoil what they just shared. It was the most erotic and perfect moment of his life, and he would die before he let anything ruin it.

“Baby--um Harry, are you okay, love?” He asks, speaking quietly into Harry’s ear, placing a gentle kiss on his shoulder.

“‘M better than okay, Lou, I’m fucking amazing. You?” Harry replies in a small voice, lifting his head and giving Louis a sleepy dimple filled smile. Louis releases a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, and he cant help the eye crinkling smile that appears on his face. Harry thankfully lifts up off of him then, saving Louis from having to embarrass himself and ask. He is unsteady on his feet, and he wobbles a bit, therefore Louis stands and leads him over to the leather tattoo table.

“Come and lie down, love. You deserve to lie down and rest for a bit,” Louis says, and Harry nods his head, looking as though he can’t really comprehend the words Louis is saying to him. “Wait here, I’ll get us a drink and something to clean up with. I’ll be right back.” He places a soft, chaste kiss on Harry’s lips, and Harry whines when Louis turns around and starts to head out the door.

“Lou, stay. Please stay,” Harry begs, and it pulls at Louis’ heart strings to hear Harry like that. He can’t help be love hearing the nickname fall from Harry’s puffy lips, like he has always said it like that. He suddenly wants Harry to always say it like that.

“I’ll be right back, love. I’m not going to leave you, I-- I promise.” Louis doesn’t know what possessed him to promise Harry that he’d never leave him, but he fucking means it. He means it with every fiber of his being. He never wants to let Harry go. He never wants to be without this stunning, walking, talking contradiction again, and he will move the heavens and Earth to make sure it happens.

Harry nods, curling his long limbs in on himself and Louis rushes out the door, almost running to the break room. He washes his hands and gets them both a bottle of water from the fridge, then rummages around in the small cupboard by the sink for a face washer or hand towel that he can use to clean them both up. It also wouldn’t hurt to clean Harry’s moth-er-fly tattoo either, not having had a chance before they practically devoured each other. What kind of self respecting tattoo artist would he be if he let Harry’s brand new tattoo get infected? No Sir, not on his fucking watch. Which he thinks is such a kind of redundant statement considering he is neither wearing clothes or a fucking watch. Who even wears those anymore? Fuck, he hopes Liam doesn’t come back to find him naked rummaging in their break room.

When Louis returns to his room, he finds Harry laying on his back staring up at the ceiling. He turns his head to watch Louis walk towards him, his face splitting into a shy smile. “How are you feeling?” Louis asks, handing him a bottle of water which Harry takes gratefully.

“I feel amazing, Louis, honestly. Just always seem a little out of it after, you know? Like it takes a minute for my brain to work properly again.”

“That’s okay. I understand,” Louis says because he does. This isn’t his first rodeo, and he isn’t about to tell Harry to leave now that he’s finally relieved himself. He is above all, a gentleman. Louis begins to clean himself up then, passing another face washer to Harry when he is finished, pulling on his boxers, handing Harry his so he can do the same.

“Um-- Lou-- can, can we--” Harry stops, looking unsure of what he’s about to say.

“Can we what love? It’s okay, you can ask me whatever it is. Just lay down while you ask. Wanna clean up that moth-er-fly of yours before you’re suing my ass because it’s infected.”

“Moth-er-fly?” Harry laughs the sound music to Louis’ ears. He lays down and allows Louis to clean and wrap his tattoo. Louis is almost finished before Harry takes a deep breath and begins speaking again, his words coming out slow and deliberate in that way that Louis has found to be just so… _Harry_.

“Um-- what I was going to ask was-- um-- can we cuddle? I mean if it’s too much and like,if  you don’t want to or whatever I get it. Like we barely know each other, and your just my tattoo--” Harry’s words are cut short as Louis brings his mouth down to his locking their lips in a passionate kiss. He doesn’t let it get heated or desperate, he is simply trying to tell Harry that he cares about him and that this wasn’t some meaningless one time fling for him. He pulls away after a moment and the look of surprise is evident on Harry’s face.

“What? Did you think I was going to let you suck me and fuck me and then kick you out the door? I’m wounded Harold,” Louis says bringing one hand up to his heart, feigning offense. Harry giggles at his antics, and Louis smiles.

“Well, no, not exactly,” Harry replies and there is that dimple filled smile that Louis loves so much. And yes he still wants to fucking lick them like a Mr. Whippy in summer.

“And to answer your question, yes. Fuck yes. Yes, I want to cuddle with you, and I’m not _just your tattooist_. I think we passed that stage of our relationship four hard on’s, three orgasm’s and some come play ago.” The fuck? Did he just say relationship? Shit. He watches for Harry’s reaction, sure that the dreaded ‘R’ word is going to make him run out the door and never look back, but to his surprise Harry only blushes and looks at him with a curious expression he can’t quite name. Louis lays down on the table next to Harry then and Harry moves to lay on his side, so that Louis is spooning him. Louis arm comes to wrap around his chest, letting Harry’s warmth seep into him.

“Well, when you put it that way, I suppose you do have a point Lewis.” Harry winks at him, and Louis can’t be mad at him. He just fucking can’t. He is the most infuriating mixture of adorable baby bunny and pain slut Louis has ever met, and it does things to him he can’t comprehend or put into words. All he knows is that he doesn’t want this feeling to ever end. “Maybe next time, we can go on an actual date before we fuck.” Another point Louis can’t and won’t argue with. Any excuse to see Harry again he is up for.

“Next time, eh?” Louis asks, trying to play it cool, but in reality his insides are in knots, his heart is racing, and he is holding his breath. What if Harry says there won’t be a next time? What if he isn’t on the same page as Louis after all and mind blowing sex with strangers is an everyday occurrence with him? A possessive need fills Louis then, almost strangling him. They very thought of Harry being with anyone else makes bile rise in his throat. He is well aware that it sounds crazy, since he had only just met him, but fuck, it’s the truth.

“I’m sorry, did I stutter?” Harry asks in reply, and Louis can’t contain his laughter at Harry’s words. He feels giddy with this light hearted and fuzzy feeling Harry gives him. It’s intoxicating and all consuming. They cuddle for a few more moments, letting their breathing and heartbeats sync up. Louis almost falls asleep, he is so groggy. The sound of the bell ringing above the door startles Louis out of his relaxed mindset. He panics for a moment because they are both only in their underwear and he glances at the door, making sure it is still in fact shut and locked.

“Love, we’ve gotta get up. I think Liam is back,” Louis says breaking the quiet that has settled in the room like a thick fog. He hates himself for having to do it, but Liam is going to be confused and knocking on the door in .5 seconds. He couldn’t deal with goody-two-shoes Liam knowing he had fucked a client right in his tattoo room.

“‘M’kay,” Harry mumbles, turning over in Louis arms, so that they are face to face. Harry gives him a chaste kiss then pushes himself up into a sitting position. Louis following behind him. Harry hands Louis his joggers and a shirt, Louis doesn't even bother looking at it while he hurriedly puts them on, yanking open the door. He glances around the hallway, seeing no signs of his best friend. They walk together into the main room to find Liam behind the counter.

“So aftercare. Wash it with non-scented soap three to five times a day. Once it starts itching and peeling, apply a gentle unscented cream to the area. Call me if you have any questions. My cell number is written on that paper right there,” Louis says, trying to pretend, for Liam’s sake, that they didn’t just fuck in the studio, but when he looks at Harry his eyes get wide. Harry is wearing Louis’ t-shirt; it is tight over his chest and arms. Louis can’t deny the spark of possessiveness and arousal that races through his system, igniting his heart putting butterflies in his stomach, of course, always fucking butterflies. Shocked, Louis looks down at himself, finding he is wearing Harry’s shirt. It is oversized and baggy on him. Harry is giving him a shit eating grin, knowing Louis is realising what Harry had done.

“Got it,” Harry says, smiling at Liam who is looking at the two of them curiously from his position behind the counter.

“You’ll pay for this later,” Louis whispers, placing a hand on the base of Harry’s spine, pushing him forward.

“Promise?” Harry asks, winking and smiling again. Louis could fucking strangle him. Perhaps he will next time. Harry seems to be into breath play.

“How did it turn out?” Liam asks, looking between them like he is trying to figure out a very difficult puzzle.

“Great. I’m really happy with the way it turned out and the service in this place is next level.  I’ll be sure to tell my friends to come here if they ever want to get a tattoo, because god knows I came.” Liam looks confused at the comment, and Louis silently prays to a god he isn’t sure even exist that Liam won’t put the pieces together

“You came?” Liam asks, brows drawn in confusion.

“Sure did. Twice.” Harry holds up two long ringed fingers to indicate the numbers. Louis can feel the blush creeping up on his cheeks. Liam looks even more confused now, but Louis can see the exact moment he finally puts two and two together.

“Well, it was a _pleasure_ working with you today Haz, be sure to gimme a call if you’re ever in need again, won’t you?” Louis thinks he is very clever, inserting innuendo after innuendo into his little speech, but what he hadn’t been expecting was for Harry to play him at his own game and win.

“Yeah. I should be going. I have a shift at the tea shop soon. It was great getting to know you today. I’ll see you later, _Daddy_.” With that, his long legs carry him out the door, umbrella in hand and Liam’s neck snaps to Louis so fast, he worries he may have gotten whiplash.

“Fuck me.” Louis curses, covering his eyes with his hands.

“I  thought we’d already established that he did that?” Liam says and all Louis can do is laugh. When Louis peeks between his fingers, Liam is smiling wide. This has been the strangest fucking Tuesday of his life, but one thing is for certain, he’ll never judge a curly haired, green eyed, nut juice drinking hipster ever again.

 

Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow us on Twitter for updates on our latest stories or just to chat  
> @TheirGoldenFool  
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